


Budapest

by minzimpression



Series: winterhawk one-shots [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Meetings, M/M, Winterhawk Week, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 17:36:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4844369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minzimpression/pseuds/minzimpression
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This is just like Budapest all over again,” Bucky says with glee.</p>
<p>"You and I remember Budapest very differently."</p>
<p>[Winterhawk Week Day 1 - Love at first sight]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Budapest

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 1 of Winterhawk Week. Enjoy!

**[Now]**

“This is just like Budapest all over again,” Bucky says with glee as the big Marshmallow Man lumbers his way through the barricades. Tony is still having a laughing fit because some nerd scientist has recreated Ghostbusters. 

Clint, who is still trying to get over the fact that the main topic of his childhood nightmares is standing in front of him, just stares. He has his bow ready but doesn’t shoot an arrow. Because what use would that be? Bucky looks like this is the best thing that ever happened to him. He’s fucking stretching and Clint suspects that he wants to climb on that damn thing. 

“You and I remember Budapest very differently.”

**[Then]**

“Are you fucking kidding me, Phil?” Clint is skimming through the file his handler has given him. They are in one of the SHIELD jets on their way to Budapest.

“No, I don’t make jokes,” Phil replies calmly, watching him with that fucking not-smile.

“The fucking _Winter Soldier_? I’d rather go after the Widow. Can I go after the Widow, please?”

“No.”

Clint groans and opens the first page of the file again. Two-third of the most important assassinations of the last decade have been performed by the one and only Winter Soldier. Nobody knows where he came from (“We have our suspicions, but that’s above level 7, Agent Barton.”) But he’d been suddenly there, apparently working together with the Russians and SHIELD has had enough.

“It’s easy. You go there as Brandt. It’s your favorite alias, isn’t it? I bet Hunt will be there, too.”

“I like Ethan,” Clint muses.

“I know. But he’s not your priority. We’re 75% sure that the Winter Soldier will be there to assassinate the US ambassador at the gala on Saturday. You just have to get him before he gets to the ambassador.”

“But I don’t even know what he looks like!” Clint almost yells. He refrains himself from yelling because Phil gets ugly every time his agents raise their voices. That taser fucking hurts.

“He has a mask, goggles and a _metal_ arm. Why do you call yourself Hawkeye if you can’t spot those features?”

“But-“

“Agent Barton. If you’re not going to take him down, I’m going to lower your security clearance to 1.”

“What? Not even the interns have 1!”

“I knew you would understand me,” Phil says in a sweet voice and stands up from his seat to go to the front of the jet, probably asking when they will arrive.

Clint grumbles, wanting nothing more than to rip the file into pieces. This is bullshit. He knows he’s one of the best but why should he try to kill the Winter Soldier? It’s the fucking Winter Soldier. Clint will be dead before he can draw his bow, or pull the trigger. He hasn’t decided what to use, yet. 

“Why isn’t Rogers handling this? Don’t you think he will be more of a match with his super body and shit?”

Coulson tenses for a tiny second. Huh. That’s new.

“I handed him another mission, don’t ask stupid questions.”

Okay, then…weird.

They drop him off four hours later with an honest to god suitcase and another tailored suit because William Brandt is here for fucking business. 

“Your bow and weapons will be at your hotel when you arrive there,” Phil says, looking all official in front of the private plane hangar. Clint just salutes him and makes his way to the passport control.

After William Brandt is officially welcomed to Budapest, he takes a cab to the Four Seasons Hotel Gresham Palace because Mr. Brandt travels in style. Clint is glad when he enters the big ass entrance hall of the hotel because it’s freezing out there. It’s already evening here and if there’s one thing that he hates, it’s jetlag. He knows that he’s going to be up all night. Maybe he should find himself some…company.

He makes a show of checking out the cute receptionist. Maybe she could warm his bed tonight. She is already blushing and Clint thinks he’s still got it but quickly realizes that she’s blushing because of someone who isn’t him. 

Clint is still holding his passport out to her but she’s staring to his right. Another man came into the hotel shorty after him and is now leaning at the reception desk, smiling at the man behind the counter and saying that he doesn’t have a reservation, but do they still have free rooms for him?

Holy Shit, Clint thinks when he realizes how hot that guy is. He’s drawling in a Brooklyn accent, has a handsome face to die for, and a fucking chapka on his head. Clint can see strands of longer hair peeking out from under it.

The man turns a bit and Clint’s breath is taken away.

In front of him is a god. And Clint wants to climb this god. He wants to be one with him. He wants to whisper sweet nothings into his ear, he wants –

“Can I sleep in your room? You have a reservation, right?” His voice. Oh, his voice. That smile. 

Clint is in love.

He must be.

“Of course you can,” Clint hears himself say. 

The smile gets wider. Good god, he’s so beautiful. 

“Thank you, Mr…?”  
“Brandt. William Brandt,” Clint says and the man nods. 

“It’s nice to meet you, William Brandt,” the other man replies and takes the keys from the receptionist. “Every hotel is overbooked because of that big ass gala. I’m here on spontaneous business….and my company will pay the expanse so I thought, why not…”

Clint just follows the man, checking out his ass while walking behind him. It is a gorgeous ass. Everything about that man is gorgeous. 

Aww, fuck.

He can’t take this guy to his room. What the hell does he think he is doing? Phil will kill him. He needs to get some Intel on the Winter Soldier. He _should_ work tonight.

“I’m James by the way,” the man says, taking off his chapka. The hair flies for a moment, then settles in a perfect way and Clint can only stare.

The elevator is chiming and they step in, riding up to the fifth floor in silence. Clint is contemplating to withdraw his offer but then they are already in front of the door and James opens it and it’s a twin… and it shouldn’t be that much of a problem. Clint’s suitcase is already on one bed (and his convertible bow, but it’s a neutral enough case). 

James is throwing himself on the free bed and buries his head into the pillow.

“Thanks, man. I appreciate that,” he says and Clint just has to roll with it. He’s just being nice. He’s a trained spy and assassin, for fuck’s sake. All his work has to be done tomorrow during the gala. He can leave the room tomorrow morning, set up his stuff somewhere safe and get over with it. Yeah, that’s perfectly possible.

He wants to get to know this guy.

And he has no idea why.

But it doesn’t matter.

He’s just a persona here. Not Clint. Because Clint can’t get attached. It will be just…random.

“So, would you like to go to dinner with me?”

Huh?

James is sitting up and smiling at him again, this time in a shy way. Clint’s heart stutters a bit.

Well, shit.

“I’d love to,” he answers. Fuck, what’s wrong with him?

“Awesome,” James says and stands up. “Let’s go.” 

And so they go.

~+~

Three hours later and Clint is sitting on a bar stool, slurping a way too strong Long Island Ice Tea. James is sitting next to him, having lost his thick coat and Clint wants to rip the long-sleeved shirt from that broad chest. James still has thin gloves on.

(Clint wanted to comment on that earlier, but had chickened out. But James had followed his line of sight and just had laughed awkwardly.

“It’s a weird quirk. Leaving gloves on. But, ah, I think that’s a story for later,” he had said.

“I fucking love it,” Clint had blurted out and James had bought him another drink for that.)

“So, do you dance?” Clint asks. There is some sexy music going on here and there are already a few couples on the dance floor. (Two hot redheads are killing it.)

James just smiles that small smile that actually can be a smirk and nods. (Clint loves this smile. _Loves_ it.)

Clint knows that the dance they’re sharing, is just the foreplay. James seems to be okay with that, too. Clint feels like he’s floating, pressed against James’s body and being hold in a surprisingly strong grip. 

It’s not even an hour later when they are back to Clint’s room ( ~~their room~~. No, William Brandt’s room.) Clint doesn’t even manage to get James out of his shirt. They just lose their pants and fuck, these gloves are a kink Clint didn’t even know he had.

Everything feels so damn near perfect. Their voices moaning in perfect unison, half-naked bodies rubbing against each other, these blue eyes, that smile, the soft hair tickling Clint’s face.

He doesn’t know if he just thinks the _I think, I love you_ or sighs it out loud when he comes. It’s fucking intense and James shudders, moans and rides his orgasm out without looking away.

Clint’s heart is beating too fast. This must be the exhaustion. 

He falls asleep with his face buried in a heavenly smelling shirt and gloved hands that are stroking through his hair. There’s a genuine happiness in him that he hasn’t felt in a long time. It feels so _right_.

(Clint is the master of ignoring _feelings_ and shoving them away, burying them deep inside. Only because of that particular talent, he’s not a fucking mess when he wakes up hours later alone in bed. The room shows no sign of another person ever being here.)

~+~

12 hours later, the Hawk is up in his nest and concentrating on his mission. He is leaning against a balustrade, watching the crowd beneath him. The ambassador is already there, with his way too young wife and at least five security guards. 

Clint is in a foul mood. His fingers itch for his bow but he had chosen the more discreet weapon, a nice small hand gun. Because fuck this. He only needs one shot and the Winter Soldier will be dead. Hopefully. _If_ he finds him. 

Nothing seems to be out of place so far and Phil is talking to him through the comm.

_Nothing suspicious outside. I’ll keep you updated._.

Clint sighs and swirls the champagne in his glass. Everyone could be the fucking Winter Soldier. And who says that he will show up in his full gear? The Winter Soldier is a master assassin. He could even be one of the security guards. That’s how Clint would do it. With one of those awesome IMF masks.

Something is glinting. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees movement. When he looks up there’s nothing. But Clint’s instincts have never betrayed him before. There, above him is something like an old gallery. There are no stairs leading up there. That gallery is long forgotten and apparently hasn’t been used in years. Fuck. Clint has totally overlooked this. 

He _knows._ It’s him up there.

“Stand by,” he says into the comm and turns it off.

Clint hauls himself over the balustrade, grips the next best thing (an old candleholder at the wall) and climbs up. He feels like he’s in a fucking Assassin’s Creed game, and would be snickering if it weren’t for the seriousness of the situation. 

He has no idea how he manages to reach the gallery but he does, and when he pulls himself up the handrail of the gallery, he’s greeted by the barrel of a rifle.

Fuck. 

In the second Clint thinks that his brain will be blown away, the Winter Soldier _hesitates_. 

That’s all the time Hawkeye needs. He grabs the rifle, pushes it away and rolls over the rail. The whirring of the metal arm sounds scary and Clint has problems dodging the punches. The Winter Soldier is _insanely fast_.

It’s a well-placed kick that sends Clint flying against a wall. 

He sees stars when the back of his head collides with it but manages it to avoid a knife into the eye. He really should have brought his bow. He could have shot that bastard right away. A metal hand closes around his throat. It hurts but Clint is still able to breathe.

Huh.

The Winter Soldier seems to hesitate again. Clint chooses this moment to grab his gun and the shot goes awry when the other man realizes what he’s doing and hits his arm so hard that Clint assumes it’s broken. Thankfully, it’s not.

The bullet has hit the Winter Soldier’s goggles. He stumbles back, letting go of Clint, and rips them off his face. Clint sags against the wall, rubbing his neck. But he has his gun ready again, aiming at the Winter Soldier. But now _Clint_ is the one who falters.

He knows these eyes. He’d been staring into them the whole night.

Oh god. Of fucking course. That’s just Clint’s luck. Phil will throw a fit if Clint ever makes it out of this alive and tells him that absurd story.

_Remember when you sent me to kill the Winter Soldier? Funny story…_

The Winter Soldier -- _James_ \-- has a gun out, too. He’s aiming at Clint with his left hand and takes off his mask with the right one.

“That’s awkward,” James comments and Clint can’t help it. He fucking chuckles because how is that his life? James hasn’t shot him yet and Clint’s urge to shoot him is slowly receding. 

“No, honey. That’s love,” he replies. Because Clint can’t think of another reason why he hasn’t gunned James down, yet.

James smirks.

“Who sent you? CIA?” he asks.

“Nah, William Brandt is CIA. I am SHIELD, actually. Clint Barton at your service.”

“Fucking SHIELD,” James sighs, but relaxes a bit. “I knew they would come after me. They don’t like it when you don’t accept their job offers.”

Clint snorts. Because _of course_ Fury would rather have the Winter Soldier on their side.

That information is above his security clearance, apparently. 

“Why didn’t you join? They are not that bad. And the pay is better than…who the fuck do you work for? FSB?”

James grins.

“I’m a freelancer. But Mother Russia is paying very nicely, so… . There’s that. And I’m sorry, Clint. I think I have to shoot you. It’s a big fat minus for you. SHIELD agent,” he scoffs. “They killed my best friend. I think it’s only fair if I kill one of their best agents. Because you have to be, right? Not everybody can keep up with me.”

“Wait –“ Clint starts but gets interrupted by Phil, who’s managed to hack his way into the comm.

_”Barton, abort mission. We need you outside. Victor von Doom is attacking the city. He wants the ambassador, too. There are robots out there…other SHIELD agents are on their way. ETA 34 minutes._ ”

“Are you kidding me?” Clint groans. “Please tell me, you sent Rogers. I could use some blond muscles.”

_”Of course. Get your ass out there._ ”

Clint sighs. James is staring at him.

“So…can we postpone this a bit?” he asks. “Some doombots are wreaking havoc out there. You could help me, if you want? I just have to get my bow…” which is deposited in the coatroom.

“Rogers as in Steve Rogers?” James asks out of the blue.

“Uh…yeah. How do you know him? He’s supposed to be a dirty little SHIELD secret. What with these experiments and shit.”

James drops his gun and puts it back into his holster. 

“I surrender,” he says. “Bring me into SHIELD. I have some nice secrets that should be worth my life. Tell them I accept the offer from ten years ago.”

Uh….what? Clint wants to say but then the world around him explodes and James is over him suddenly, shielding him.

They are both coughing dust afterwards, scrambling out of the rubble. The high society of Budapest is screaming downstairs and doombots are swarming the house. 

“Go, get your bow. I’ll handle it until then,” James grins maniacally, _kisses_ him square on the mouth and fucking _jumps_ at the next best robot, ripping the head off with his metal hand. While that robot is crashing down, James is long on the next one, dismantling it expertly.

And Clint is totally in love at that sight.

(Later, while James _Bucky_ Barnes is chewing out his not-so-dead best friend, Phil is glaring at Clint who gets treated for a nasty gash on his forehead. 

“I love him. Can I keep him?” Clint pleads. 

Phil just rolls his eyes and stalks away to get the Winter Soldier into temporary custody.

James becomes ‘Agent Barnes’ two weeks later. 

He moves into a SHIELD issued apartment. Clint’s SHIELD issued apartment.)

**[Now]**

Clint gets his head wound treated and chuckles when he watches Bucky yell at Steve for slitting Marshmallow Man’s leg with his shield and climbing _into_ that thing. 

Bucky’s right, Clint thinks fondly. Just like Budapest all over again. 

**Author's Note:**

> For those who are interested: A very different version of how Bucky became an Avenger. :) Bucky and Steve weren't frozen in time here. They were just two army dudes who let SHIELD experiment on them. When Bucky thinks, Steve has been killed by SHIELD, he goes rogue. SHIELD tells Steve, that Bucky has died. 
> 
> (Bucky is part of the Avengers Initiative when the Chitauri attack.)
> 
>  my [tumblr](http://minzimpression.tumblr.com)


End file.
